


Like Ghosts

by Codydarkstalker



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, M/M, Reaper76 - Freeform, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codydarkstalker/pseuds/Codydarkstalker
Summary: When Jack fails in his mission to track down the masked killer known only as "The Reaper" he figures his day can't get any worse. That is until he comes home to The Reaper lounging in his kitchen, eating his food, and insulting his taste in hot sauce. What is a man to do when a killer takes to following him home and trying to kiss him? Especially when he looks so cute playing with the neighborhood bodega cat?





	1. Chapter 1

Jack cursed as he watched Reaper fade into a fine mist and blow away. The man’s deep laugh hung in the air for a moment, mocking him. This was the third impossible escape Reaper had made that month, and it was beginning to wear on Jack’s nerves. 

He pressed a hand to his visor and pressed on the comm link switch. “Soldier 76 here. Anybody got eyes on Reaper?”

There was a crackle of static over the radio. “No. I thought you had him!” Tracer’s voice was high and confused. 

He had left her guarding the transport and gone after Reaper himself. He had been convinced that this time he would catch the other man. It had been close this time. Reaper was tough, Jack had put at least a dozen bullets in him and it barely seemed to slow him down. But Speed was something Jack had the edge on. Maybe it was the ridiculous get up, the big boots and long coat, or maybe it was injury, but Jack was faster on his feet than the masked man. Well, other masked man.

So Jack had hunted Reaper. He had shot him a few times, and then given him just enough time to run. Reaper ran and he had run after him. Reaper wasn’t as fast, but he was slippery, good at hiding. He would run around a dead end corner, and when Jack caught up he would be gone. Until Jack saw him crouching on a fire escape or jumping from one roof to another. And so Jack would shoot at him and run after him again. This little game took them most of the way across town, to an abandoned building with boarded over windows and a broken chain wrapped around the handles on the front door. 

Jack had chased Reaper all the way to the roof. That was it, he was sure. There was nowhere left for the man to go. Jack had him cornered, up against a wall. Or rather, up against a five story drop, which was even better. 

“Sorry Jackie, this just ain’t your day.” Reaper laughed, and then fell backwards off the roof, arms spread open wide.

Jack lunged forward without thinking, hands closing on empty air. Reaper’s body dissolved into a plume of dark dark smoke, and then the smoke blew away, leaving nothing behind but the echo of that laugh and a cold feeling deep in the pit of Jack’s stomach.

“How the hell did he know my name?”


	2. Chapter 2

Jack leaned against the wall and let the exhaustion wash over him as he slid down to the ground. It was all he could do to keep hold of his gun. He was exhausted, he could feel it in every muscle, every bone. It had a been a long day. Reaper had escaped, again, and his team was no closer to figuring out who the man actually was. 

“Jack, are you okay?” A soft, accented voice came from above his head. “Did you collapse?”

Jack tilted his head back and looked into Mercy's worried eyes. The doctor was leaning over him, hands tight around her clip board. It hurt a bit to see her worried like that, it reminded him of the doctors during the SES. So many men and women dropped out, or even died, in a misguided effort to create super soldiers. It had been hard on them all, but it was almost harder to see how it affected the doctors and nurses. The medical staff would run themselves ragged trying to keep the volunteers alive, and each loss was a tiny death for them all.

He reached up and pulled his visor off. “Sorry, just tired ya know? I’m not as young as I used to be.” He pushed himself to his feet and leaned his gun against the wall so he could stretch. 

Mercy gave him a sad little smile. “Well, tired makes sense after the day you had. You don’t seem too banged up, so I will go ahead and clear you. You can go home and rest up now.” She patted him gently on the shoulder and walked away, already distracted by her paperwork. 

Jack watched her go and then headed off down the hall to the ready room. Most of the lights were already off, and the empty room felt strangely calm and peaceful. He took the ammo out of his gun, double checked the safety, and stored it in his locker. Then he put away his jacket and visor and changed into non descript civilian clothes, dark grey jobbers and a long sleeve blue shirt. He wrapped a soft grey scarf around his neck a few times so most of his face was hidden, and then pulled on his boots. Dressed like that he didn’t look like Strike Commander MOrrison, and in a way it was comforting. No one would connect the scarred, grey haired man for the handsome blond hero of Overwatch. That was comforting, but also saddening.

He was too tired to dwell on the issue. He left the building via a back exit, slipping out onto the busy streets entirely unnoticed. For a moment he froze in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. It was still hard sometimes to feel at home amongst so many people. There was a part of his brain he couldn’t turn off, the soldier part of him, that said it was dangerous. An enemy could come from anywhere, by anyone. He was a target, and in a crowd there would be no way to prevent casualties. 

“Hey, watch it!” A middle aged man with a beer gut and a faded baseball cap elbowed past.

Jack snapped himself out of his reverie and headed towards the subway station. The trip home was one he could make in his sleep, which was just as well. He kept a death grip on the rail in the subway, swaying slightly as the train lurched along the tracks. He lived on the far side of town, in a not as nice portion of the city. He was loathe to touch his money from his time as Strike Commander lest the paper trail lead undesirable back to him. So he got off the subway, stopped at the bodega on the corner for a styrofoam container of pupusas and spicy curdito. The old woman at the counter smiled at him, and he took a moment to pet the big orange cat perched on a rack of chips.

His apartment was on the fifth floor of a building with no elevator, so he had the floor to himself. It was a cozy apartment, or at least that was how he had described it to Mercy when she tried to convince him to move into her building, a towering monstrosity of shiny metal and glass. He knew deep down it wasn’t about the apartment, she just wanted to keep an eye on him, to try and help. But his apartment was cozy. Inside it he could relax, just a little bit. He had five different locks on the door, four of which he had installed himself. 

Inside his apartment was dark. He had heavy curtains to block sunlight the weekend he moved in. He kept odd hours, and it was the only way he could sleep sometimes. He turned on the light switch and toed off his boots before walking past the mat. He liked to keep the rug clean, and that meant taking off his boots to avoid tracking in blood or mud or anything else. He made sure to lock the door behind him. 

He padded through the living room and into the tiny kitchen, setting the bag on a counter so he could turn to get down a plate. Eating right out of the styrofoam container was depressing. He raised himself up on his tip toes to grab a plate off the top fo the stack, and then opened the fridge and bent down to get a bottle of hot sauce off the shelf on the door. When he turned around he dropped the bottle.

“You have any Cholula hot sauce? Maybe the garlic kind?” Reaper was leaning against the counter, in his full black regalia. He had picked up the bag of food and was peeking into it with interest. He looked down at the broken bottle of hot sauce on the floor. “You know Texas pete is kinda crap right?” he asked.

Jack held his plate to his chest like a shield. ‘What- what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. How did you find me? How did you get in?” he demanded. 

The man shrugged and pulled his mask to the side a bit, taking a pupusa out of the bag and taking a large bite. “Oh wow these are great. I haven’t had one of these in ages.” He groaned in appreciation and took another bite. 

With his mask askew, Jack could see a bit of the man’s face. A strong jaw covered in dark stubble and a wide mouth. He glanced at the door. It was still locked. He could make a run for it. He had the element of surprise on his side. He looked down at Reaper’s side and noted he was armed, both his shotguns were at his waist and most likely loaded. At such a short range there was no chance he could miss.

Jack took a long steadying breath. “What do you want Reaper? Did you come here to kill me? Or did you just want a late night snack?”

The Reaper laughed and popped the last bite of food into his mouth. “Aw come on Jack, you saying you didn’t wanna see me? You’ve been chasing me around, kind of a mixed message Güey.” He dropped the bag of food back on the counter. “The food is a definite bonus. We should have dinner dates more often. This is fun.” 

Before Jack could move, the other man was crowding him against the wall. He held the plate up between them as if it could protect him from whatever was about to happen. Reaper stood an inch or so taller than him in his boots, and he was a solid wall of warm muscle. He smelled like cigars and leather and coffee. Jack tensed as the man placed his hands on his shoulders, the talons on his gloves digging in and catching on his soft cotton shirt. And then Reaper was kissing him, and his mouth was warm and spicy and his teeth were pulling on Jack’s bottom lip so hard he could taste blood.

Jack gasped into the other man’s mouth, and his grip on the plate loosened. Reaper pulled back as it crashed to the ground. He pulled his mask down across his face and then took a step back, body dissolving into mist. 

“Te quiero,” he said, voice a low rumble. And then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack changed his locks, and added a few new ones for good measure. He put deadbolts on all the interior doors. Two for the bedroom. It was already hard for him to sleep, and the threat of Reaper sneaking in while he slept was almost too much. 

The day after the surprise visit he stayed late at work, going over paperwork from previous missions. He went over maps and stared at grainy security cam photos for hours, trying to get something new from them. He didn’t think there was anything there, Talon was good. Reaper was a damned ghost. He fell asleep at his desk and didn’t wake up until Ana set down a blue china cup of tea on his desk with a quiet “chnk”. 

“You have a perfectly good bed. If you want sleep you should be in it,” Ana said curtly, staring down at him. 

Jack ducked his head down to avoid her gaze and sniffed at the tea cup suspiciously. He generally prefered coffee, but Ana made good tea. Stuff strong enough to get him through over long strategy meetings when he wasn’t able to sleep.

“It’s Koshary tea,” She snapped, sliding the cup closer. “With mint, and milk and a good bit of sugar. You don’t eat enough Jack.” She stared him down until he took a sip, slurping the hot liquid. 

Jack sighed in pleasure at the taste and took another long sip. “It’s good,” he commented, downing most of the cup. “Thanks.”

Ana snorted and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Of course it is good, I made it.” She looked over shoulder at the piles of papers. “Now, what is all this?” She picked up one of the photos and held it close to her good eye.

“Photos from the last encounters with Talon. We caught a few low level goons, but the big bads keep getting away.” Jack dug into the papers and pulled out a depressingly thin manilla folder. “This guy keeps slipping away. He’s toying with me.”

Ana took the folder and opened it, frowning at what she saw inside. A few low quality stills of a man dressed in black. A few pages of sparse notes listing possible sightings, and a tally of his kills. 

“Jack, this is nothing. You are chasing a ghost.” She dropped the folder on his desk. “You should go home and get some rest while you can.”

Jack leaned back in his chair and flung an arm across his eyes to block the glare of the fluorescent lights. It was also handy at blocking out the sight of Ana glaring down at him. He hated when she glared at him. 

“I could just sleep in my office,” he pointed out. “I have a couch in there. That’s a lot like a bed.” 

Ana smacked him on the back of the bed, making him sit forward. “Go home, or I will call Angela in here,” she threatened. Ana was second only to Mercy at guilting him into taking care of himself. 

Jack groaned and then stood up, tossing back the dregs of the tea. He snatched his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled it on, grumbling under his breath. “I don’t even need to listen to you,” he pointed out sullenly, wrapping his scarf around his face. “I was the Strike Commander. I think I outrank you.”

Ana snorted. “I am a mother, that means I can boss around who I like.” She reached out and tucked the end of Jack’s scarf into his jacket. “And right now, mother is saying to go home, eat something, and get some sleep.”

Jack nodded in defeat. It was easier to do what she said, and on some level he knew she was right. He couldn’t live in his office, comfy couch or no. They walked out of the building together, Ana hailing a cab to take her to her apartment, and Jack heading off towards the subway. 

The train was crowded as usual. Jack waded through the crowd and ended up pushed against a door in a car in the back. He held onto the overhead bar, swaying slightly as the train stopped and started and winded through the maze of tracks under the city. The press of bodies was almost comforting, a warmth at his back, a pleasant background hum of noise. 

The train pulled into a major stop and more people crowded into the car, pushing him so close to the door he couldn’t turn around. He started as a hand slid down his back. It was tight in the car, he could feel bodies everywhere, but that hand had felt deliberate, not like a random hand reaching out for a support bar. 

“Hey there viejo. Funny seeing the great, glorious, leader of Overwatch on some crowded, dirty subway.” The voice was a low rumble in Jack’s ear. When he tried to turn around, strong hands grabbed him by the waist and held him firmly in place. 

“I don’t drive much,” Jack gritted out. “The traffic here sucks.” He jerked his head as far to the side as he could to try and see the man behind him.

Reaper had foregone his normal leather trench coat and mask. He was a wall of black in heavy black denim jeans and a black Carhartt hoodie. The hood was pulled up, hanging low over his face, and his mouth was obscured by a black surgical style mask, the kind people wore during flu season. Even without the costume, it was unmistakable who the man was. Jack had been staring at every known photo of the man for hours on end, he was certain.

“I wonder what all these nice people would think if they knew the great Commander Morrison was right here with them?” Reaper mused. He was pressed tight against Jack and his breath was warm on his ear, even through the mask.

“I wonder what they would say if they knew they were down here with a killer,” Jack countered, trying to shrug him off.

Reaper chuckled, a low rumble that Jack could feel in his own chest. “Two killers, isn’t it? You have some blood on your hands too.” He reached around jack and grabbed one of his hands. He was wearing black cotton gloves, and they felt soft as they slid between Jack’s fingers. “I know.”

“You don’t know shit!’ Jack clenched his fist, trying to crush the other man’s fingers. “So shut the hell up!”

Reaper hummed thoughtfully. “You know. I am a killer Jack, maybe you shouldn’t be upsetting me.” He slid his hand out of Jack’s and moved it to grab his wrist. “We’re underground, in a subway car full of innocent people. WHo knows how many people i could kill before you could stop me.” He laughed again. “If you could stop me.”

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the voice coming over the train’s speakers. 

“This is the last stop on this train. Please exit the train.” The people on the train began to shift, the mass of them moving towards the doors. As they opened Jack was pushed out onto the platform, Reaper still holding on to his wrist. “As you exit, please be mindful of the gap between the platform and the train.”

Jack pulled the other man up the stairs and onto the street, moving as quickly as he could through the crowd of people. Outside the air was cold and damp, a light rain fallin down and making puddles that reflected the lights on the storefronts. The crowds were dissolving, leaving the two men mostly alone on the street corner. 

“So, dinner from that bodega again? Reaper asked, voice slightly muffled from under his mask. “It was pretty good, and I could go for platanitos.”  
Jack glared and yanked his arm away from Reaper. “We are not getting plantain chips, we are not going to the bodega,a nd we aren’t having dinner together!’ He yelled.

Reaper shrugged and started off down the street, heading in the direction of Jack’s apartment. “Okay, stay here. I can get them by myself.” His boots splashed in the puddles on the sidewalk.

Jack watched him for a moment before cursing and jogging after him. His rifle was back in his office in his personal gun locker. He had a pistol at home. But that was locked up too, and the ammo was in a different room. Gun safety was all well and good until a crazy killer followed you home.


End file.
